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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122536">this time I'm ready</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar'>mixtapestar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Intercrural Sex, Intimacy, M/M, Second Chances, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:29:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Monster, Eliot gets a chance to make a one-shot trip back in time. He undershoots his intended destination by ten minutes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Margo Hanson &amp; Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>It Always Leads to You</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>this time I'm ready</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Huge shoutout to everyone who held my hand while I wrote this fic, Rubick and TheAudity plus others—you know who you are. &lt;3</p>
<p>Inspired by Taylor Swift's "long story short", specifically:</p>
<p>
  <i>And I fell from the pedestal<br/>Right down the rabbit hole<br/>Long story short, it was a bad time<br/>Pushed from the precipice<br/>Climbed right back up the cliff<br/>Long story short, I survived</i>
</p>
<p>and</p>
<p>
  <i>When I dropped my sword<br/>I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door<br/>And we live in peace<br/>But if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready</i>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eliot has been back in his own body for four days, eleven hours, and twelve minutes.</p>
<p>The first two days had been fuzzy—a haze of pain, drugs, and hallucinations. On the third day, when he was lucid enough to carry on a conversation, he quickly asked for more drugs so he wouldn't be. He refused to believe that Quentin was gone.</p>
<p>Now, he's been given the all-clear to head home, but he isn't sure where home is. Definitely not the Physical Kids' Cottage, not after everything he's just been through. And apparently their group has a nice setup with a penthouse apartment in Manhattan, but that's not <em>home</em>. "Take me to Fillory," he tells Margo, and it's a sign that she's so worried about him that she doesn't even ask why.</p>
<p>He takes a walk around the grounds of Whitespire, numb to everything but pain, trying to figure out what happens next. His side starts to hurt after about twenty minutes, but he vows to make it to the clock tree on the east perimeter before heading back.</p>
<p>He realizes his mistake when he reaches the clock tree, and the pain has gone from vague and annoying to sharp and insistent. He spreads his hand over the clock face as he braces against the tree, gripping at his side. He eases himself down onto the ground, leaning back against the tree trunk—the bark is softer than he would've expected—and lets himself fall asleep, hoping when he wakes up he'll have the strength to hobble home.</p>
<p>He dreams of Quentin reclining against the same tree, head tipped back against the too-soft bark, fingers splayed on the ground so that they just touch Eliot's. When he jolts awake, the light has shifted, and his fingers still feel warm.</p>
<p>Blearily, Eliot pushes himself to his feet, and he thinks he has the energy to make the walk back. He turns to check the clock face—why, he doesn't know, it's not as if they've ever kept time reliably—and notices a shimmer as the low sun reflects off the surface. The shimmer isn't on the face, it's <em>behind</em> it, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's prying the clock face away from the tree, reaching within to retrieve a gleaming silver pocket watch.</p>
<p>Horomancy spells that he's never used outside of a classroom spring to his mind as he traces his fingers over the symbols engraved on the back. He's not sure how, but he knows, is completely fucking certain—he <em>knows</em> how this watch works. In his mind's eye, he has a very clear picture of the tuts he'll need to send him back. To before.</p>
<p>The knowledge pulses through his mind so strongly that he has to fight not to use it immediately, to send himself back and figure it out as he goes along.</p>
<p>Instead, he makes his way back to the castle, keeping the watch out of sight. He spends the next day planning it out, checking his math and the circumstances, writing everything down on the off-chance that everything goes wrong and someone wants to know what happened to him.</p>
<p>He undershoots his trip back by about ten minutes.</p>
<p>He's just outside the throne room, the door closing behind him, guards standing on either side. The pocket watch sits dormant in his hand, having given him his one trip, but he's too late. Quentin is sitting just inside, still processing Eliot's fresh rejection.</p>
<p><em>Fuck it</em>. He slams the door back open, startling Quentin as he storms back into the throne room. He sees Quentin dash his fingers across his face and politely looks away to let him compose himself.</p>
<p>"Forget something?" Quentin asks after a moment. Eliot briefly struggles to breathe as he looks back at Quentin, present and moving and <em>alive</em>. Every second Eliot gets with him from this point is a gift.</p>
<p>"I did," he answers, stepping up to the wedding arch. His fingers are still sticky from the peach. He crouches down, just like he did in the confines of his mind, but the Quentin looking back at him is wary and exhausted, not blank. The last thing this Quentin said to him was a muttered apology for fucking <em>putting it all out there</em> and then a perfunctory "goodnight" when Eliot claimed he was heading to bed. "Q, I—I think I spoke too soon."</p>
<p>Quentin's gaze turns sharp, and he sits up, grabbing at his own elbows and shaking his head. Eliot's heart breaks to see him pull into himself so obviously. "No, you're right, fifty years of memories, of <em>emotions</em>—I shouldn't have—"</p>
<p>"No, I'm glad you did." God, this had been so much easier when he ran it through in his head. How had he started it then? "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"<em>Jesus</em>," Quentin says, leaning back further and pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to apologize. Let's just—get some sleep. We'll talk about the quest some more in the morning."</p>
<p>"Can you just—" He sighs, suddenly realizing he's barely interacted with a real live human being in months. "I'm trying to <em>say</em> something."</p>
<p>Quentin stands and puts some distance between them, going back to the basket of peaches and plums. "So say it," he says, absently moving the fruit around.</p>
<p>Eliot just watches him for a second, remembering Margo's expression when he'd come to consciousness and asked after Quentin. The fact that there was no body for him to even grieve over. He's <em>here</em>, he actually has a chance to do it all over, and still he's fucking it up.</p>
<p>Quentin looks back at him impatiently, and something of his devastation must be showing on his face—he again blames his lack of recent human interaction—because Quentin's expression softens. "What is it?"</p>
<p>He tries to think back to what he was planning to say if he'd shown up at the <em>right goddamn time</em>. Mostly, he thought he'd answer Quentin's proposition with a kiss, then an excited Quentin would ask if that was a yes, and then they'd sneak off to his bed together. Quentin doesn't exactly look like he'd welcome a kiss right now. "I just—I think you were right the first time. We should—give it a shot," he manages, swallowing around the lump in his throat. God, could he sound <em>less</em> convincing? "I want a life with you," he tacks on desperately.</p>
<p>A flicker of hope passes over Quentin's face, and it reminds him so much of the Quentin he saw when he broke through in the park that his gut clenches. Even worse, it's gone as fast as it came. "How do I know you're not gonna change your mind back given another ten minutes of reflection?" he asks, which Eliot supposes is fair.</p>
<p>"I won't," Eliot assures him. "I'm sure about this. Is there some way I can prove it to you?"</p>
<p>Quentin steps back from the basket of fruit. "Let's just talk about this in the morning. Okay? Then neither of us has to worry about speaking from an <em>emotional</em> place."</p>
<p>Eliot nods. He can handle that. It might be agony, wondering if Quentin's offer really was that transient, but if Quentin needs one night's sleep to be sure, he can wait. "If that's what you want."</p>
<p>"Goodnight, El," Quentin says before pushing his way out of the throne room.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Eliot wakes up feeling invigorated. Okay, so yesterday didn't exactly go as planned. But he made it back here, Quentin is alive and well, and all Eliot has to do now is convince him that he's sincere about his feelings. In the grand scheme of things, that last part shouldn't feel as daunting as it does.</p>
<p>He dresses in his Fillorian finest, going for imperial and impressive. He debates taking the pocket watch with him for luck, but its silver clashes with the gold in his cuffs and belt, so he leaves it behind on his desk.</p>
<p>Quentin will probably be in the guards' wing, where he knows they have extra beds and people won't ask too many questions. But as soon as Eliot opens the door, he finds Quentin sitting against the wall, looking up at him.</p>
<p>"Q," Eliot breathes, excitement rushing through his veins at the sight of him. He offers him a hand and takes in the guard's uniform and how well it fits him. "How long have you been out here? You could've knocked; hell, you could've just come in, I hardly would have minded."</p>
<p>"It hasn't been long," Quentin says, standing and pulling on his uniform to straighten it. "I didn't want to disrupt your morning routine."</p>
<p>Eliot smiles, stepping back into his doorway. "Why don't you come in?"</p>
<p>"Um, okay," Quentin says, still pulling absently on his hem. Eliot shuts the door behind him and flips the seldom-used lock. "So, about last night."</p>
<p>"I haven't changed my mind," Eliot says fervently. "If anything, sleeping in here without you only made me more sure. I want to be with you."</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Quentin says, eyes shining as he steps into Eliot's space, reaching up for his shoulders in an all-too-familiar gesture, and Eliot leans down to meet him halfway. The touch of Quentin's lips to his is electrifying, and Eliot finds himself whining involuntarily and gripping at Quentin's sides to pull him closer. God, he hasn't been touched—<em>really</em> touched—in months. Even if his body doesn't know it, his mind does, and he clings to the tenderness of Quentin's mouth, his hands on Eliot's skin.</p>
<p>Quentin laughs as he breaks away sometime later, breathing hard and squeezing at Eliot's forearms. "And to think, I had a whole second speech prepared."</p>
<p>"Oh? Well now you're gonna have to tell me," Eliot quips, leading Quentin further into the room toward his bed, starting to work the ties loose from Quentin's top layer.</p>
<p>"Absolutely not," Quentin says, laughing, and then he turns his head away slightly and freezes.</p>
<p>Eliot freezes too, unsure of what's happening, but before he can ask what's up, he sees where Quentin's gaze has landed.</p>
<p>"Where did you get that?" Quentin asks eagerly, darting for his desk and picking up the pocket watch.</p>
<p>"I, uh—found it. On the grounds."</p>
<p>"This isn't—no, this isn't the one the dwarves made for Jane. Trust me, I've actually seen it pretty recently. No, this one is—El, I think this is from the inside of one of the clock trees. And if—" He pauses to lick his lips, excitement radiating off of him. "If that's true, we might be able to use this to travel back in time to fix something. Like—I dunno, not killing Ember, finding another way—"</p>
<p>"Q," Eliot finally interrupts him, his insides twisting. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd know what it was. But we can't use it for that, because it's already been used."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"I mean that when I found it, it only had enough magic in it for a single use, and I've already used it."</p>
<p>"You—no. How is that possible? Magic is gone, we only just found the Time Key—"</p>
<p>"I used it to travel back here. To last night. From… about a year in the future," he guesses. He's not really sure how long he was locked up in his own body while the Monster wore him like a puppet.</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Quentin says, his eyes going unfocused as he takes it all in. He drops the hand with the pocket watch back to the desk, disappointment obvious in the slump of his shoulders. "So you—what? Came back to warn us? Is there something even worse coming up?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Eliot answers readily. "But I didn't come back for that. I came back for <em>you</em>."</p>
<p>Quentin leaves the watch on the desk as he processes that, the sides of his mouth tipping downward the longer he thinks. He tilts his head up to look back at Eliot incredulously. "Jesus, Eliot. You could have gone back to before we killed Ember and Umber. You could have gone back to warn us about the <em>Beast</em>. All the opportunities you had, and you chose <em>this</em>?"</p>
<p>"I know how it probably looks from your perspective. But believe me when I say that turning you down was the worst mistake of my life."</p>
<p>Quentin runs his hands through his hair, clearly reeling. "And what about every mistake we must have made after this?"</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs. "I was planning to quietly steer us away from those from the sidelines."</p>
<p>"The sidelines," Quentin repeats, deadpan. Eliot steps forward, his guts churning, but Quentin backs away from him. He can feel Quentin slipping away, and he has no idea what to do to stop it. "Explain to me why we couldn't just make amends from your original timeline?"</p>
<p>Eliot doesn't like the sound of that, like he's <em>someone else</em>. Not Quentin's Eliot. That's probably what makes him so blunt. "You were dead."</p>
<p>Quentin laughs, a harsh, loud sound that reverberates through the room and stabs into Eliot painfully. "And why couldn't you have just been honest about the whole thing from the start? As soon as you travelled back? I hardly would have doubted you, considering what just happened."</p>
<p><em>God</em>, Eliot realizes. The mosaic memories are still fresh for him. "I thought this was my one great shot to fix my mistake. As it turns out, I mistimed it by ten minutes."</p>
<p>Quentin shakes his head, arms crossed, staring somewhere to the left of Eliot. "So if you'd have gotten it right, would you have ever told me the truth?"</p>
<p>"Of course," Eliot assures him. "I would have told you everything eventually."</p>
<p>That gets Quentin's eyes on him, but not in a good way. "Eventually," he repeats, and Eliot cringes. He definitely should have left that part off. "Oh my god. I need to—not be here right now. I can't—" He cuts himself off with a scoff.</p>
<p>Eliot's stomach sinks as Quentin's words sink in. The last time he'd seen Quentin, before the time travel, he'd looked so <em>hopeful</em>, like he would have welcomed a second chance. But Eliot actually has one, and he can't seem to stop fucking up. "Q, I'm sorry," Eliot calls after him, but Quentin doesn't appear to be listening as he unlocks and pulls the door open, disappearing down the hall. Eliot scrubs at his face and goes searching for his crown. He may as well make himself useful while he's here.</p>
<p>Eliot buries himself deep in fairy bullshit for the day, trying to distract himself from the epic fuckup that this whole venture has become. Quentin is angry, and Eliot can understand why, even if he thinks he's overreacting. And a part of him is a little bitter that Quentin hasn't noticed how romantic it was for Eliot to use his one-shot time-travel to come back for true love.</p>
<p>At the end of the day, he finally gets a moment alone with Margo, where he confesses the whole melodramatic situation. </p>
<p>"Jesus fuck, El. And you'd be possessed by a god for that long?"</p>
<p>"A god-killing Monster, but yeah. I got off easy, though; it's the rest of you that had to suffer at the Monster's hands."</p>
<p>Margo shudders. "Well, fuck that. You know how to stop it from happening, right? We can do it right this time."</p>
<p>Eliot swallows. He wishes he knew. He certainly knows what <em>not</em> to do. He didn't know he'd be expected to show up back here with <em>answers</em>. He should've gone to Margo, the Margo that worked so hard to bring him back, and talked this through. Maybe they could have figured out how to use the watch together, come back to this moment together. What the fuck was wrong with him? He'd <em>left her behind</em>.</p>
<p>"Hey," Margo says, concerned, laying a hand on his arm.</p>
<p>"I think I really fucked up, Bambi," Eliot says, his throat tight with the pressure of unshed tears.</p>
<p>Hating himself the whole time, he admits everything he's just realized, letting her gather him to her chest where his tears do their part ruining her sequined Fillorian blouse.</p>
<p>"No offense, babe, but I'm still here <em>without</em> all the trauma you just mentioned. I think I prefer it that way."</p>
<p>Eliot laughs wetly. He thinks of Penny 23 and all the parallel timelines they learned about, and he somehow doubts the Margo he left behind would feel the same way. But he's here now, and if nothing else, he has the real, present Margo's blessing.</p>
<p>"So you're really that gone on Coldwater, huh?" she asks, running her fingers through his hair.</p>
<p>"God. Probably even worse than you're thinking," he admits. He'd glossed over a lot of the details of the mosaic, after all. "I'm a mess."</p>
<p>"Well, he's a mess too, so you'll make a good pair," she says, squeezing his arm. Her touch is as soothing as Quentin's had been, however short-lived that was. Now he understands what people mean when they say "touch-starved".</p>
<p>They stay like that for a while, Eliot in the comfort of her arms as they talk about nothing and everything. He answers a few of her curious questions about the future, but she doesn't dig.</p>
<p>Eventually, she mentions something about needing to go drug her newlywed husband to sleep, and slides up to her feet. "I'll come up with something tomorrow to distract the fairies, give you the day, okay? <em>Work it out</em> with him so we can get to work fixing this shit."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Bambi. I couldn't do this without you."</p>
<p>"You're damn right."</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Eliot can't sleep that night. He keeps wanting to go check on Quentin, to make sure he hasn't gone off on the boat quest portion of their adventure, off to face the abyss and maybe not catch on to the terms in enough time to fight them.</p>
<p>Finally, sometime after daylight starts to filter through the curtains, he manages to nod off. He wakes up an unknown time later to Quentin sitting beside his bed with an open journal and pen in hand. Quentin's look is resolute. "You're going to tell me everything you remember."</p>
<p>"Q?" Eliot blinks at him and rubs at his eyes, trying to confirm that he's not dreaming. Quentin is dressed in a simple pale green Fillorian tunic and—<em>Jesus fuck</em>—his mosaic jeans, of course. Now Eliot is <em>sure</em> he's awake; only the real Quentin would go with such a ridiculous combination.</p>
<p>Quentin's stern expression fades fairly quickly as Eliot struggles to wake up further. "I can go and come back if you need a minute." He swallows, gesturing at the bedside table. "I brought you some water. I couldn't do much without being seen, but Margo said she'd bring us lunch later."</p>
<p>Eliot laughs lightly. Trust Quentin to be there with a demand as soon as he wakes up, then immediately start backpedaling. Eliot wonders how many times Quentin practiced his opening line. "Just give me five minutes," he says, pushing himself out of bed and selecting one of his more comfortable Fillorian outfits from his closet on the way to the bathroom. He may have to stay closed away in his room all day to corroborate Margo's excuse, but there's no reason he can't look classy while doing it.</p>
<p>He realizes as he's getting dressed that the outfit he's chosen is not unlike the clothes they'd favored at the mosaic. A tan wrap-around tunic—fancier than their mosaic clothes because of its beaded embroidery—paired with baggy brown pants with far too many ties along the waist. They're great for lounging in, though, and Eliot doubts he'll have to worry about needing to get out of his pants in a hurry today, given Quentin's magnanimous order.</p>
<p>"So, how is this supposed to go?" Eliot asks, pulling up his plush blue chair close to his desk where Quentin has relocated, already writing something in the otherwise empty journal.</p>
<p>"We're gonna go through everything you remember from the moment we got back from the mosaic until you time travelled back here. Then we'll take it all to the group, and use whatever knowledge we can to do it better this time around."</p>
<p>"You might not like some of what I have to say," Eliot says, thinking of Alice and her betrayal.</p>
<p>Quentin shakes his head. "My feelings don't matter. This is about fixing things."</p>
<p>Eliot wants to stand up, to put his hands on Quentin's shoulders and work out the tension there, to lean down and whisper, <em>Your feelings matter to me</em>. But this isn't the mosaic, this is the real fucking world, and as much as he hates it, his knowledge is probably the best chance they have for fixing things the right way this time.</p>
<p>He takes his time on the Abyss Key story, maybe exaggerating, but maybe not. He needs Quentin to know how serious it is; how they almost lost him that much sooner as the key exploited his mental state.</p>
<p>He covers the rest of the key quest in fits and starts, jumping around when a question from Quentin or his own diverting memory make him remember something from earlier in the progression of things. He tries to think of it all like a story, something that happened to someone else, which he guesses is technically true now. He's just getting to the Library intervention and mind-wipe portion of the story when Margo pounds on the door, demanding entry or she'll eat their delicious lunch herself.</p>
<p>Quentin dutifully finishes writing his latest sentence while Eliot goes to the door. Margo shuffles in, studying the two of them as she brings the tray over to the desk. "Something tells me you two haven't banged it out yet."</p>
<p>"Quentin's writing my memoirs," Eliot says through a bright, fake smile.</p>
<p>"The rest of this quest is <em>supremely</em> fucked up," Quentin says, flipping back through the pages he's written.</p>
<p>"Jesus, Q," Margo says, fixing him with a glare that makes Eliot feel a tiny bit better about his current situation. "When we talked about using Eliot's knowledge to tackle this thing, I meant more—talking through it over wine and a nice dinner—not whatever this is."</p>
<p>Quentin avoids both of their gazes. "I know, it's just. It'll be good, to have it all written down. In case something happens."</p>
<p>Eliot's stomach sinks. Margo narrows her eyes and says, "Like what?"</p>
<p>Quentin fidgets with his pen. Eliot clears his throat to make sure his voice is clear before he says, "You think I'm going to leave. Or stay out of it."</p>
<p>"<em>What</em>," Margo says flatly as Quentin continues to stare down at the journal, his silence being all the answer Eliot needs.</p>
<p>"Margo, thank you for the food. Could you give me some time alone with Q so I can <em>clarify</em> some things?" Eliot asks, gritting his teeth.</p>
<p>Margo squeezes his arm, reassurance in her gaze when Eliot turns to her. Her eyes dart to Quentin in a clear promise to kick his ass if Eliot wants. Eliot smiles and pulls her into a hug before she leaves them.</p>
<p>When the door closes, Eliot rounds on Quentin, but all of his <em>how dare you</em>s die on his tongue when he sees the misery on Quentin's face.</p>
<p>"Don't pretend like you actually want to deal with all of this again," Quentin says. "You said yourself you wanted to handle everything from the sidelines."</p>
<p>Eliot sighs, letting the rest of the fight go out of him as he sinks back into his chair. He pulls his plate over and pushes the food around for a second as he thinks over his words. "When I said that, I was talking about <em>both</em> of us being on the sidelines. <em>Together</em>. Not having to deal with the bullshit. But it's obvious now that's not going to happen." He cuts through the meat on his plate with panache, glad to at least have something to do with his hands. "There are a lot of things I could've done better with this whole time travel thing; I get that now. But I'm not going to <em>abandon</em> the rest of you to solve it yourselves."</p>
<p>Quentin reaches for his own plate. "No, I know. I'm sorry. I'm just—struggling with all of this." Eliot can see that from every line in his face. He wishes he knew how to fix it. "You don't have to tell me the rest, or we can do it some other time. I didn't mean to like, hold you captive or whatever."</p>
<p>Eliot shakes his head. "No, I'd like to cover the rest. It probably won't take long. But let's eat first."</p>
<p>At first, they eat in companionable—if slightly awkward—silence, the only noticeable sounds coming from their cutlery against the plate. Eliot is surprised when Quentin suddenly speaks up. "Do you think Teddy was happy?"</p>
<p>Eliot almost chokes on his broccoli. Quentin <em>never</em> talked to him about the mosaic—maybe this is a good sign. Once he's sure his airways are clear, he answers, "I'm sure he was. He had Laurie and the kids. We did everything we could to set him up for success."</p>
<p>"Yeah, we did," Quentin says, smiling bashfully down at his plate. "I dunno, I guess I'm just wondering what I would do over again, if I had the watch. And, um." He stops to shovel a fork full of vegetables in his mouth, chewing slowly. Eliot waits patiently, making it clear he's listening. "I dunno if I'd want to use it."</p>
<p>Eliot raises his eyebrows. "I thought you wanted to fix our god-killing spree. Keep us from losing magic in the first place."</p>
<p>"Yeah, that was my first thought. But like, if that hadn't happened, we wouldn't have gone to the mosaic. Teddy wouldn't exist."</p>
<p>"Fuck," Eliot says, shuddering at the idea of Teddy just disappearing into the ether. Everything between now and when he found the pocket watch seemed inconsequential at the time, but what if he'd missed something? What other downstream effects did he cause by coming back here? "I'm sure you think my coming back to the moment I chose is irresponsible, but you have to know, there was nothing salvageable about the timeline I came from."</p>
<p>Quentin taps his fork against his plate. "You said I died."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Eliot says, staring into the distance as he relives moments he'd sooner never think of again.</p>
<p>Quentin pushes his plate aside and takes up the journal again. "Were you… involved with my death?"</p>
<p>A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Eliot, tears springing to his eyes. "God. What a loaded question. No, not directly, but I can't help thinking that it's my fault."</p>
<p>"We don't have to talk about this," Quentin says again. "If you wanted to come back to forge a new future, you shouldn't have to rehash your past—"</p>
<p>"It's alright. This will probably help. And I want to be honest with you," he emphasizes, hoping Quentin will believe him. He takes a deep breath. "So, okay. I told you about the Monster."</p>
<p>"In Castle Blackspire," Quentin says, nodding. "That you shot without telling me your plan first."</p>
<p>"Right, well," Eliot's gaze darts away. "That's kind of what I'm getting at. Let's just say karma got me back for that one."</p>
<p>Steeling his nerves, Eliot dives into the details of what happened next. The memory wipes, the new personalities, and then, reluctantly, his possession.</p>
<p>"I wasn't aware of what he did in my body. I just got impressions. A hunger. For revenge, for affection. Honestly, more of the latter, as time went on." Eliot shakes his head. "For me, though, it was mostly like a daydream? A really shitty daydream where monsters lurked in the shadows and I only had my memories to keep me company, but still better than what you had to face. You were like the Monster's pet." He closes his eyes and pushes through the details of what he faced to get out, to send Quentin a message, along with everything that came after. He has to open his eyes again when he recaps waking up to find out about Quentin's death. He has to be sure that Quentin is there before him.</p>
<p>"Holy fuck, El. I'm so sorry," Quentin says, setting his pen down and reaching for Eliot's arm. Eliot tries to take a deep breath in and realizes he's started crying. "God, so you've basically been alone for—what, months?"</p>
<p>"I mean, Charlton was some kind of company at least, but. Yeah." Quentin pulls him into a hug, and it's only through sheer force of will that Eliot doesn't start sobbing.</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry," Quentin murmurs, running his hand along Eliot's back. "I shouldn't have forced you to tell me all that. To relive it."</p>
<p>"You didn't force me to do anything," Eliot says, his voice shaky. He feels Quentin's touch like a firebrand through his clothes, and he takes a moment to just breathe like that before continuing. "Like you said, it'll be good to have it written down. Maybe you can be the one to share it with the others, though."</p>
<p>"Of course," Quentin says, sitting back. "I should probably take this back and make some notes. Check the quest book and all that."</p>
<p>"You don't have to go," Eliot says, uncaring of how needy he sounds.</p>
<p>"I know. I just need to focus on this for a bit. I'll send Margo by, since I know you can't wander today."</p>
<p>Eliot nods, pulling himself together. Quentin still needs space; it's fine. They can get through this. He watches Quentin gather up the journal and tries to plaster on a reassuring smile. Quentin gets as far as the door before Eliot has to call out to him. "Q, wait," he says, and Quentin freezes with his hand on the doorknob. "Just—promise me you won't go after the Abyss Key without me."</p>
<p>Quentin's expression is soft when he looks back at Eliot. "I'm not going anywhere, El. I'll be back."</p>
<p>Eliot nods, and once the door is closed, loudly releases the breath he's been holding. He busies himself with cleaning up their plates, rearranging his desk, polishing the pocket watch—anything to keep him distracted.</p>
<p>When Margo arrives, she pulls him out of his chair and over to the bed, immediately gathering him into her arms. Eliot lets himself be manhandled, but after a few minutes of comfort, he speaks up. "You don't have to babysit me, Bambi. I'm sure you have better things to do.</p>
<p>Margo sighs. "Look, Quentin is losing it somewhere right now, and you're obviously not doing much better—"</p>
<p>"He's what?" Eliot says, worry shooting through him as he tries to sit up, but Margo grabs his shirt and pulls him back down.</p>
<p>"He's having a nice, cathartic cry about whatever it is you told him, and I'm here to help you do the same. So nut up and cry already."</p>
<p>"I already ruined one of your shirts," Eliot points out, trying to smile.</p>
<p>Margo smirks. "Tick gave me this one. I chose it special."</p>
<p>Comforted by her presence and the fact that she's unlikely to let this go, Eliot rehashes some of the events again, giving voice to his guilt over his rash decision with the bullet leading to his possession and, ultimately, Quentin's sacrifice. The fact that he finally got his shit together enough to recognize what a mistake he'd made in rejecting Quentin, only to wake up to him gone. "I couldn't face it," he says, his head in Margo's lap now, as he stares out unseeing through his tears. "The moment I found that pocket watch I was already running away. I didn't think twice about the consequences. I did just enough to make sure I didn't kill myself trying."</p>
<p>"Good."</p>
<p>"Good?" Eliot repeats, disbelieving.</p>
<p>Margo nods. "You survived, you came back to us, and now we can all have a happy ending."</p>
<p>"Fuck, I hope so."</p>
<p>They lie there for a while, the rush of Eliot's thoughts eventually settling to a dull roar. Margo tells the tale of how she implemented their initial plan to trick Fomar into thinking their marriage had been consummated, this time without having to leave the castle.</p>
<p>Eliot takes it all in, glad that at least their first hurdle has been passed. "We should talk about what to do about the fairies. The first time—"</p>
<p>Margo cuts him off with a glare. "Listen, El. I get it. You feel guilty about coming back, Quentin made you feel worse, but you don't have to fix it all today. You already went through everything with Q, yes?" Eliot nods. "Then we'll go through it another day. Together."</p>
<p>Eventually, she leaves him for a while, and Eliot takes a bath with some buds of idrahtender and tries to wash away any lingering feelings of shame for letting himself be vulnerable. The weirdly sharp floral scent of the idrahtender helps him relax; he remembers growing patches of it in their garden at the mosaic, indulging in baths just like this after a particularly strenuous day.</p>
<p>Margo returns with dinner sometime later, and after, she talks him into reading to her from a random <em>Simon's Stumpers</em> book. He's in the middle of chapter three when there's a sharp knock on the door, and the two of them fall silent, tensing up before Quentin's voice carries through. "It's me."</p>
<p>Eliot relaxes, feeling slightly ridiculous. It's not as if the fairies would have <em>knocked</em>. "Come on in," he calls out.</p>
<p>"Oh, sorry—" Quentin says when he sees them curled up together on Eliot's bed. "I can come back—"</p>
<p>"Get your ass in here, Q," Margo says, reaching over Eliot to pat the empty space on the bed on his other side.</p>
<p>"We're reading Fillory's favorite fucked up mystery series," Eliot says, attempting to sound bright. He can see from the puffiness around Quentin's eyes that he's been crying too. He sincerely hopes he's done crying and making the people he loves cry for a good long while.</p>
<p>Quentin scrunches up his nose. "Oh god, those are awful."</p>
<p>"Horrible," Margo agrees. "That's why I make El read them to me. You can hear his disdain in every character voice."</p>
<p>Quentin eases onto the bed slowly, as if he's afraid to spook them. Eliot stares down at the pages of the book in an effort not to spook Quentin in return. "I'm just staying true to the characters," Eliot says. "Not my fault Simon the Sabretooth is incompetent as fuck."</p>
<p>"Oh god, that reminds me of the rhyming books we used to read Teddy. Sally the Salamander and the valley where she'd dilly-dally." Quentin stretches out, his shoulder bumping against Eliot's as he settles.</p>
<p>Eliot turns to him, smiling as the memory fills him with warmth. "I still can't believe they tried to rhyme Missy with busy."</p>
<p>Quentin smiles and leans into him a bit more, and something in Eliot's chest unwinds as he focuses on the ridiculous adventures of the story.</p>
<p>They get almost halfway through before Margo calls it a night, levelling Eliot with a long, challenging look before she leaves the two of them alone.</p>
<p>"Thanks for coming back," Eliot says to break the silence.</p>
<p>"Of course," Quentin says sincerely, a small smile playing at his lips. "We should talk some more, but maybe tomorrow? I'm exhausted; I can't imagine how you feel."</p>
<p>"It's been a long day," Eliot admits, "but I should thank you, for getting me to talk about all of it. I actually feel better, having it all out there. Knowing we're in this together."</p>
<p>"Good. I'm glad," Quentin says, stifling a yawn. "Do you, um. D'you mind if I sleep here?"</p>
<p>"Not at all," Eliot says, trying not to let himself hope. "You have to borrow some sleep pants, though. You sleeping in jeans is gonna give me the worst kind of flashbacks."</p>
<p>Quentin snorts as he stands. "Deal," he says, and they take turns in the bathroom until they're both ready for bed.</p>
<p>Eliot tries not to laugh at the sight of Quentin in his sleep pants, so long on him that he has to hitch them up to walk. He hides any wayward smiles by getting into bed, facing away so that he doesn't have to watch Quentin agonize about getting into bed with him.</p>
<p>Quentin blows out the candles and slips under the covers. If Eliot's not mistaken, he shifts his pillow closer before settling in. "Thanks for letting me stay. You were right, it was awful sleeping without you last night."</p>
<p>Eliot licks his lips. He's definitely not imagining this. "Q, I—"</p>
<p>"Shh," Quentin says, scooting close enough that Eliot can feel him along his back, then tossing an arm around his middle. "Let's talk about it in the morning."</p>
<p>Eliot tries not to feel resentful—because that worked <em>so well</em> last time—but he figures this time there's no secret time travel involved, so it'll probably work out. And he can't really argue with his current situation, even if Quentin has made him the little spoon. Closing his eyes, he lets himself give in to the exhaustion of the day and slips into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Eliot wakes up pressed up against Quentin, his arm tucked firmly against Quentin's chest, the two of them having shifted to their most comfortable position in sleep. He sighs happily, thinking about closing his eyes and going back to sleep.</p>
<p>"Morning," Quentin says, sounding wide awake.</p>
<p>"Mm, morning," Eliot says, stretching a little. "How'd you sleep?"</p>
<p>"Better than I have in a long time," Quentin says, reaching up to trace his fingers over Eliot's hand in a way that makes Eliot's breath catch. "I was just thinking about what you said about being on the sidelines. Like, obviously we need to figure out how to finish the key quest, but after. We could like—be done. <em>Retire</em>."</p>
<p>Eliot laughs, loving the sound of that, but he can't help but point out, "You love having a quest."</p>
<p>Quentin is silent for a moment, fingers still tracing patterns over the back of Eliot's hand. "I like knowing that I have a purpose. But I don't <em>need</em> a quest. Especially not one that's gonna ruin the lives of the people I love. I love magic—its <em>potential</em>. But I can enjoy exploring all of that without involving gods and curses and shit."</p>
<p>"That sounds like a good goal," Eliot murmurs, pressing a smile to Quentin's hair briefly.</p>
<p>Quentin's fingers go still, and Eliot feels him take a deep breath in. "What would you have said to me? If you'd come back to the right time."</p>
<p>Eliot swallows. Somehow he doubts his plan to say yes to Quentin's offer and then drag him to his bedroom will do the trick in this case. Feeling like he's finally learned something, he goes with the truth. "I didn't exactly have a speech prepared, but I know what I should have said, after. I should have explained that I was scared," he begins, clearing his throat when his voice comes out rough. "What we had at the mosaic, it was… unmarred. There weren't complications like a single-use time travel watch or a Monster to have to jail or defeat. And you can see how well I managed to fuck those situations up all on my own. I don't disagree with you that we work, Q, I'm just not so sure you'll still think that after a week of having to deal with me out in the real world."</p>
<p>Quentin shifts, turning from one side to the other to face Eliot, tucking a pillow under his head to prop it up. Eliot's eyes burn under the intensity of his gaze. "I'd hardly call our time at the mosaic unmarred. I mean, I get what you're saying, but like, we dealt with our own heavy shit over the years."</p>
<p>Eliot remembers. Weeklong stretches when Quentin could barely get out of bed. Losing Arielle. Barely being able to differentiate the colors of the tiles through his tears over missing Margo. Those two horrible days when Teddy and Laurie had lost their baby and they weren't sure yet if they'd lose Laurie too. But in all of those cases, they'd had the time—the <em>freedom</em> to deal with their emotions, their grief, without having to save the world in the next five minutes. "We did," he says aloud, weighing his words. "But you have to admit we had certain luxuries back then that we'd never get away with here and now. I mean, any second now this conversation could be cut short by one of the fairies knocking on my door to tell me how I need to go destroy Whitespire's library if I want to keep my left arm."</p>
<p>Quentin glances at his arm as if he's weighing the options. The playful set to his mouth pings against Eliot's insides like a pinball. "Yeah, but we're used to interruptions. Remember when we were fighting about whether to send Teddy away to school?"</p>
<p>Eliot smiles, the tension in the memory seeming soft with age. He remembers—Teddy kept intruding on their space as soon as they'd get into the thick of it. "It's almost like he knew. It took us three days to finish that argument."</p>
<p>"You were right, though," Quentin says, voice going soft. He reaches out to rest a hand in the center of Eliot's chest, and it takes all of Eliot's self control not to reel him in closer. "I would've hated myself if I'd sent him away. Even if he came home on the weekends, it wouldn't have been the same."</p>
<p>"Even if we'd tried it, you wouldn't have lasted a week. We were definitely helicopter parents there for a while."</p>
<p>Quentin laughs, his eyes crinkling up. Eliot desperately wants to reach out and run his fingers over the wrinkled skin, touch the evidence of Quentin's happiness, like if he can feel it, there's no way it'll fall apart. "We totally were." He sighs, fingers flexing over Eliot's nightshirt. "Our problems were different there, but we still got through them together. Maybe the whole 'retire' thing isn't realistic, but it's worth a shot." He smirks. "And let's be real, you're no more of a fuckup than I am."</p>
<p>"Debatable," Eliot says, nudging his legs against Quentin's under the sheets. He recognizes the look of desire that flashes over Quentin's face as they tangle together further. "Q, if you don't let me kiss you in the next minute, I might actually combust."</p>
<p>Quentin sighs, scooting a couple inches closer on the pillow. "I wanted to make you wait. I'm still pretty pissed you didn't tell me about the pocket watch."</p>
<p>"I promise to tell you immediately if I do any more time travelling."</p>
<p>"You better take me with you if you do any more time travelling, you bastard," Quentin says playfully, and Eliot can't wait any longer. He shifts forward, bringing their lips together, pouring all of his nerves and relief and resolve into the firm press of his lips. Quentin whimpers, pressing in closer and parting his lips, tongue flicking out to tease. Eliot's arm goes around Quentin automatically, holding him close while Quentin's hand slides down his shirt, rucking it up to rest on the exposed skin of his hip as their open mouths slide against each other and they moan into the heated kiss.</p>
<p>"Can I—?" Quentin asks, and Eliot nods.</p>
<p>"Whatever you want." Quentin pushes at his hip, shifting up as Eliot falls back. Eliot lets out a low groan as Quentin rests his weight on him, his ass almost—but not quite—resting over Eliot's hardening cock. "God, I missed you."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," Quentin says, pressing his palms against Eliot's chest and pushing back—<em>fuck—</em>so that his ass brushes over Eliot's cock. "For making you wait. It's actually really fucking hot that you came back for me."</p>
<p>"I don't mind waiting if it means you're sure about me. About us," Eliot says, lifting Quentin's shirt over his head. "It's probably better that I got the timing wrong. Now we both know what we're in for."</p>
<p>"You've had plenty of practice waiting out my grumpiness," Quentin says wistfully, pushing at Eliot's shirt. "<em>God</em>. It feels weird to be young again."</p>
<p>"I know," Eliot says, remembering his first month back as he wriggles out of his shirt. "You'll get used to it before long, but you'll probably keep some habits you don't realize, like asking for a hand up instead of pushing yourself up off the ground."</p>
<p>Quentin laughs. "It's wild to me that you've already lived this part."</p>
<p>"Well, not <em>this </em>part," Eliot says, pulling Quentin down by the shoulders into another kiss. Quentin is smiling so much that their lips merely brush together at first, and Eliot feels that like a punch to the gut. He can't remember the last time he saw Quentin so genuinely happy. Probably at the mosaic.</p>
<p>"Did I lose you?" Quentin says, pushing himself up.</p>
<p>"Sorry. Navel gazing," Eliot says, reaching up to tuck Quentin's hair behind his ear. That world he woke up to, in which everything was ruined and Quentin was gone, seems so distant now. They're here, <em>together</em>, and Quentin above him with his eyes full of concern is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I love you, Q," he says, and the catch of Quentin's breath echoes inside him like a siren song.</p>
<p>Quentin laughs, a delighted sound, ducking his head so that his hair tickles against Eliot's chest. "Jesus, El. It took you how many years to say that the first time?"</p>
<p>Eliot grins. "This time it only took two days. I'm getting better."</p>
<p>"I love you too, you complete asshole," Quentin says, moving back in for the kiss they abandoned.</p>
<p>Eliot memorizes every touch as they move together, slow and languid, willing himself not to take this for granted now that he has it. He's hard, and he can feel that Quentin is too, but they take their time, drinking each other in. He skims his hands down Quentin's sides where he knows he's ticklish, smiling into their kiss when Quentin gasps and jerks a little. His hands continue their journey past the band of Quentin's borrowed sleep pants, fingers spreading out to grip Quentin's ass.</p>
<p>"Ahh, fuck," Quentin breathes, breaking their kiss and grinding down against him.</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Eliot asks, squeezing Quentin's ass and rocking up into him.</p>
<p>"<em>Yeah</em>, fuck," Quentin says, moving back in to kiss him more desperately, fingers clumsy at Eliot's waistband. Through some uncoordinated pushing and pulling on both sides, they manage to push their sleep pants down their thighs, cocks rubbing against bare skin. Quentin flicks out his wrist in a very familiar gesture, and they both realize his mistake at once. "No magic," Quentin says miserably. </p>
<p>Eliot laughs. "I've got oil in the drawer," he says, gesturing toward it. Quentin huffs and pushes off of him, ditching the too-long sleep pants on the floor and rummaging through his drawer for the oil. Eliot enjoys the view, pushing his own pants the rest of the way off and stroking himself while he waits for Quentin to come back.</p>
<p>Quentin makes a triumphant noise and straightens with the bottle of oil in hand. But when he turns back to the bed, he freezes, eyes tracking the movement of Eliot's hand over his cock. "Fuck, El. You look so good."</p>
<p>"If I look as good as I feel, then I must be gorgeous," Eliot says, taking in Quentin's all-over flush, his open mouth. "Now get back here so I can make you feel this good."</p>
<p>Quentin smiles, climbing back on top of him and uncapping the oil. He offers it to Eliot first, then coats his own palm before setting the bottle aside. They reach for each other simultaneously, moaning at the slick slide of the oil. Eliot has to close his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed at the feeling of Quentin's hand on him—<em>finally</em>, after all this time. Quentin leans forward, falling against him, shifting to bring their cocks together, and their hands work between their bodies to create a <em>wonderful</em> slide against each other as they press kisses to each other's skin.</p>
<p>"God," Quentin says, panting against Eliot's neck, "I am so mad at magic being gone right now. I really want you to fuck me." He grips Eliot's hip tightly, grinding down against him.</p>
<p>"Mm," Eliot hums, tilting his hips up into the sensation. "You know it's better if we work up to that anyway." Quentin utters an impatient noise that makes Eliot smile. "We could always try other ways. Remember our second anniversary?"</p>
<p>Quentin's brow furrows as he lifts himself up and sits back on his knees. "Second mosaic anniversary, second kiss anniversary, or second wedding anniversary?"</p>
<p>"Three years in. Second anniversary of our first time together."</p>
<p>Quentin's face lights up in recognition. "<em>Oh</em>. Yeah, um, we should do that. I dunno if I can stay on top of you the whole time, though. I'm not as strong as I was back then."</p>
<p>Eliot spreads his fingers and rubs his palms over Quentin's thighs. "I hardly expect you to do all the work. I'd love to have you on your side—remind us of all those times when our bodies were too far past their prime to do it any other way," he says with a breathy laugh. "Let me hold you against me while I fuck between these pretty thighs."</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Quentin says, rolling his eyes, but his grin is blinding. "Are you seriously comparing me not being able to hold fucking plank position until you get off with us fucking in our seventies?"</p>
<p>"It's not a challenge, baby. Just practical," Eliot says, loving this playful, open Quentin that he hasn't seen in so long. "I don't care how we do this, as long as I can make you feel good."</p>
<p>Quentin hums, reaching for the oil again. "I feel good already. And I don't want to move from on top of you yet."</p>
<p>"Mm," Eliot agrees, pushing up on his elbows. "I like you on top of me."</p>
<p>Quentin leans down to kiss him before pressing the bottle into his hand. Eliot pours a generous amount of oil into his palm before handing the bottle back. He slicks up both hands and massages over Quentin's thighs, urging Quentin up so he can get him wet and slick enough to take Eliot's cock. The slide of his fingers over Quentin's skin is already so tantalizing; Eliot is practically vibrating in anticipation of getting his cock between Quentin's legs. But he takes his time, drawing it out, getting more oil from Quentin and working his hands against him until Quentin is breathing hard. Satisfied that he's ready, he cups Quentin's balls in one hand and strokes his cock with the other, spreading out the extra oil and working Quentin up that much further.</p>
<p>They set the oil aside, and Eliot lies back, looking up at Quentin through heavy-lidded eyes. "Your turn, baby. Show me how you want me to fuck you."</p>
<p>Quentin moans as he stretches out, bracing his hands on either side of Eliot's shoulders and easing down with his legs still held apart.</p>
<p>Eliot rests his hands on Quentin's hips. "Good?"</p>
<p>"I think, just let me—" and then he brings his legs together, <em>squeezing</em> over Eliot's cock in such a perfect pressure that Eliot can't help but tip his head back and moan. "Yeah, good," Quentin says, sounding satisfied.</p>
<p>Eliot holds Quentin's hips and thrusts up tentatively, loving the slide of his cock against Quentin's soft skin. The head of his cock drags over Quentin's perineum as he pulls back, and Quentin gasps, bringing his legs together <em>even tighter</em> and starting to move with him.</p>
<p>"Yeah, <em>fuck</em> Q," he rasps out, hips working in tandem with Quentin's to create a rhythm, the slide against his cock made all the better by the way Quentin rubs his thighs together.</p>
<p>Quentin's voice gets rougher too as he continues to babble. "Oh god, your dick feels so hot. Is it tight enough? Fuck, we should do it this way more often."</p>
<p>Eliot laughs. "We should do it <em>every</em> way more often," he says nonsensically. "You feel <em>amazing</em>, baby."</p>
<p>Quentin whines, hips stuttering. "I love how it feels, trapping your cock, feeling it slide against me." Eliot loses himself in it, pushing and pulling, the sounds of their pleasure mingling in the air.</p>
<p>When Quentin's arms start to shake, Eliot wraps his arms around his back and tips them over onto their sides, holding him tight against his chest and thrusting faster into the tight grip of his thighs.</p>
<p>"Ah, fuck. <em>Yeah</em>, keep going," Quentin says, sliding a hand between their bodies to get a grip on his cock. The frantic slide of Quentin's knuckles against him as he works his cock unlocks something in Eliot, his thrusts becoming more desperate. He reaches up to tuck Quentin's hair behind his ear, their eyes locking as Eliot moves his arm back, holding Quentin as close as possible while his orgasm starts to build.</p>
<p>"I'm so close," Eliot gasps out, overwhelmed with the smell of Quentin's sweat, his harsh breaths so close that Eliot can feel them ghost over his skin, his wrecked expression.</p>
<p>"Fuck, El, <em>please</em>. I want it," Quentin whines, locking his thighs tight together <em>just right</em> to make Eliot cry out and come against the heat of his skin. "Oh fuck that's good," Quentin breathes out, and Eliot can feel his hand speeding up against his belly as he continues to thrust between Quentin's thighs, riding out his orgasm.</p>
<p>"Let me help," Eliot manages, still feeling pleasure pulsing through him down to his toes, easing back enough to get his hand on Quentin's cock.</p>
<p>"Oh fuck, <em>fuck</em>, your hands are so good," Quentin sobs, rocking into his fist.</p>
<p>"That's it, baby. Come for me," Eliot urges, pumping Quentin's cock the way he knows so well, watching Quentin's mouth fall open as he crests over the edge, his cock pulsing into the press of their bodies.</p>
<p>Their lips collide as they move together simultaneously, all of their passion shifting into the press of their lips, the sensuous slide of their tongues as their urgency fades and they're left with the beautiful reality of simply being here together.</p>
<p>"We're a mess," Quentin says a few lazy minutes later, giggling a little as he slides his fingers down Eliot's chest. "No cleaning spells."</p>
<p>"Mm, I'll take care of you," Eliot says, pressing forward for another kiss before he gets out of bed, coming back shortly with a wet cloth. He watches Quentin's eyes slip shut as he slides it between his legs, taking his time gently cleaning him until only some of the persistent oil remains. He does the same with Quentin's chest, letting Quentin distract him by pulling him into another kiss. He laughs as he finishes up, tossing the cloth carelessly away. "I don't think this oil is going anywhere without a proper bath, but at least we won't be a sticky mess in ten minutes."</p>
<p>"Good. I don't plan to move for at least twenty," Quentin says, cuddling up to his side and closing his eyes. Eliot's heart is still beating fast, and without the urgency of his arousal, he has to admit it's just from being here, <em>with Quentin</em>, truly getting the second chance he hadn't dared hope for, even as he was living it. He strokes his fingers through Quentin's hair, letting it all sink in as Quentin dozes off.</p>
<p>He loses track of time—he's pretty sure he dozed off too at some point—but suddenly he's jumping in surprise as his door bangs open, an angry looking Margo storming into the room with a pocket watch in her hand.</p>
<p>Quentin jolts beside him and grabs for the sheet, but Eliot has no such qualms, sitting up as hope and excitement start churning inside him. "Margo?"</p>
<p>"Eliot <em>fucking</em> Waugh," she says, her lips curling. "Do you know how <em>long</em> it took me to find another fully grown clock tree? And then work out the bitch-ass circumstances to hop to the same timeline you went back to?" she cries out, indignant.</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Eliot says, tears springing to his eyes as he lifts himself out of bed. "<em>Bambi</em>. You have no idea—I hated myself so much for leaving you behind, but you<em> made it</em>."</p>
<p>"You're damn right I made it," she says, eyes softening when they shift over to Quentin. Eliot wraps his arms around her, holding her tight until she relaxes, the fight going out of her. "Now put some fucking clothes on, we have a world to save."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are love! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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